


Something Interesting

by violet569



Category: Sherlock (TV), 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sherlock (TV) Fusion, BBC, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, Bakugou Katsuki is Bad at Feelings, Bakugou is Sherlock, F/M, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Midoriya is John, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Protective Bakugou Katsuki, Sherlock AU, Tags May Change, This will be interesting, What Have I Done, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-03-22 10:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet569/pseuds/violet569
Summary: When returning home to London from the Afghanistan war front after being wounded, Izuku Midoriya needs rest, but that's not all he needs. His issues acclimating back into society are beginning to consume him, but what he doesn't expect is for a high functioning sociopathic detective named Katsuki Bakugo to pull him out of the dark, and take him on a life changing adventure. One that just so happens to actually threaten his life on more than one occasion.-This is based off of BBC's Sherlock television show with Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman-





	1. Chapter 1 | A Study in Pink | Part 1

Chapter 1

A Study in Pink

Part 1

 

Images flashed in Izuku Midoriya’s mind. Faces and bodies decked in heavy camouflage, bags of sand stacked up on one another, blood speckled dirt. Some things he recognised, some he didn’t. Information bounced around in his head like contained bouncy balls. Echoes of a memory he didn’t quite remember.

 

Gunfire. It was loud and consistent. There were many piercing shots in succession, one after another, after another, after another, after― Now the bombs. The pull, the toss, the boom and uprooting of dirt where it landed and detonated. Too much. It was all too much.

 

Running, he was running. The sweat, heart pounding, his buddies his friends that might have never known but felt so in tune with. The trip, the fall, the duck and cover as dirt of an explosion rained from above. Sceaming. There was so much screaming and the blood, the blood stained and clung to his hands like the mud and grim under his boots. And the screaming and the crying and it was too much. It was too much for it to be happening again.

 

Izuku sat up in bed with an anguished, strangled cry. His skin was slick and sticky with sweat from a dream that was quickly slipping away from memory. Tears of an unknown cause attempted to slip down his cheeks, away from soft, meadow green eyes. His dark green locks were maddeningly more messy than usual. His panting and elevated heart rate pounded against his ribcage, sounding much louder in his ears than it should have, which should have been none at all. He traced fingers over the scars running like Zebra striped on his arms, each one a reminder. Trying to catch his breath, he surveyed his surroundings. He was home, with his minimal furniture and few embellishments, but it was his home. Not back on the battlefield. No tents, no painful wails, no enemies ready to ambush, or armies marching on either side. It was silent, and without strife. All except for the internal war.

 

Izuku spent all night just sitting on the edge of his bed, bedside light and corner lamp turned on.

 

Later, with a large yawn and assist cane in hand, he limped over to his desk using the cane on his right side for support. He set a fresh apple on the desk next to his already filled, hot and steamy coffee mug before pulling out the chair positioned there, and sitting heavily as if it would be hard to get up. He maneuvered the cane underneath the desk and beside him in a well practiced move. He opened the right drawer to retrieve his laptop computer laying inside, while underneath innocently sat a deadly gun that could take lives. He shut the drawer.

 

He turned on the device and it booted up to the last page opened. A website he had been logged in under, one to record his day to day activities and feelings. He left it blank.

 

* * *

 

“How’s your blog coming along?” The woman across from him asked. She sat with one knee crossed over the other and wearing a simple blouse and slacks. She had long dark brown hair that was tied up into a bow in the back, and she held a clipboard in one hand with a pen to take notes in her other during their — his — _Izuku’s_ session.

 

“It’s going good,” he said, fidgeting. He cleared his throat. “Fine, I guess.”

 

She sighed and began scribbling notes. “You haven’t written a word, have you, Midoriya?”

 

“You just wrote ‘Still has trust issues.’” Izuku stated, almost in defiance.

 

“And you read my handwriting upside down,” she countered. She gazed at him pointedly, hoping for him to understand a point she didn’t verbally communicate. “See what I mean?” Izuku fidgeted with his fingers, his left tracing the scars on the same hand, the right flexing his grip on the cane. He tried to understand, he really did. It’s just that so many other worries and thoughts clouded his mind to where he couldn’t see through the fog.

 

“Midoriya,” she started patiently. “You’re a soldier, so it’s going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life again. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you with honestly help.”

 

Izuku’s chuckle sounded strained, even to his own ears. “Nothing ever happens to me, Tsu.”

 

* * *

 

“My husband, was a happy man, who lived life to the fullest.” A woman, a lover, a wife, was making a speech at the press conference with the police sitting beside her, and rivulets of water falling steadily, threatening to ruin her makeup. Her voice shook with every with every syllable, as if at any moment she would finally break and let the floodgates open. “He loved his family and his work.” Cameras flashed and took pictures, assured that their latest scoop was the hottest. “And that he should have taken his own life in this way,” she choked up. “Is a mystery and a shock, to all who knew him.”

 

A boy runs with the hood over his head to protect himself some from the rapid downpour of rain, running to his friend who was carrying an umbrella not big enough for the two of them. On the road next to them, a taxi passes by, oblivious to the hooded boy’s calls to it. He shrugs in frustration and heads back in his friend’s direction. “I’ll be back in two minutes, mate. I’m just going home to get my umbrella.” The friend insists that they can share, but the boy is stubborn and begins to run back. “Two minutes, all right?” He calls over his shoulder. A day later, the paper reads: “Boy, 18, kills himself inside sports center”.

 

A woman walks out from the charity party she’s hosting without others noticing. Checking in her bag at her car, she finds her car keys are missing, and slipped into regret for losing them. Not much time later, the police are giving a report at a press conference.

 

A female officer with chin length, sharp cut purple-ish hair color sat next to a male officer with dark blue hair and an undercut. The female said, “The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister of Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London.” She looked up from her script, cameras flashing at consistent intervals around her. “Preliminary investigation suggests that this was a suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffrey Patterson and James Phillimore. In light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing, but Detective Inspector Iida will take questions now.”

 

Reporters’ voices increased in volume and chatter filled the room to the roof. One managed to get in a good question by asking, “Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?”

 

Iida Tenya took a breath before speaking, making a small chopping motion to begin with. “They all took the same poison and were all found in places they had absolutely no reason to be. None of them had shown any prior intentions—”

 

“But you can’t have serial suicides,” the reporter that asked the question cut him off.

 

Iida huffed indignantly. “Well apparently you can.”

 

A different reporter spoke up. “These three people, there’s nothing that links them?” A valid question.

 

“Well,” Iida hesitated before continuing swiftly. “There’s no link we’ve found connecting them yet but, we’re looking for it. There has to be one,” he said passionately, right before everyone’s phone in the room began beeping. A single text was displayed across them all.

 

_Wrong!_

 

The female officer, after glancing at the message, looked up to the reporters. “If you’ve all got texts, please just ignore them,” she said sternly.

 

“It, just says ‘Wrong’,” the first reporter commented.

 

“Yeah, just ignore that,” she responded with a bit of fire, irritation itching its way up her throat. “If there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Iida, I’m going to end this session.”

 

“If they’re suicides, what are you investigating?” The second reporter questioned.

 

“As I said,” Iida began once more. “These suicides are clearly linked. It’s an unusual situation, and we have our absolute best people investigating right this very moment.” Everyone’s phone rang out once more, displaying the same text.

 

_Wrong!_

 

“It says wrong again,” another reporter commented.

 

“One more question,” the female officer said. Stern, final, and left no room for debate.

 

“Is there any chance that these are murders? And if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?” A female reporter in the back questioned.

 

Iida’s tone balanced borderline exasperation and annoyance. “I understand you like writing about those, but these do appear to be suicides. We can tell the difference. The poison was _clearly_ self-administered.”

 

“Yes, but if they are murders, how do people keep themselves safe?” The reporter pressed. She wanted her scoop.

 

“Well,” Iida seems to fumble for an answer. “Don’t commit suicide.” He cleared his throat and stood up straighter, taking hold of the reigns to the conversation. “Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions to prevent this. We are all as safe as we want to be.” Phones across the room rang out once more and all displayed the same message.

 

_Wrong!_

 

All except for one. Detective Inspector Iida picked up his phone and read text that said:

 

_You know where to find me._

_KB_

 

He sighed, stuffing his phone into his back pocket, and then addressed the reporters with a final, “Thank you,” before bowing at a ninety degree angle, standing up, and leaving. The female officer was not far behind. That was the cue to everyone, that the show was over, and to go home with the snippets they’d gathered to create their fantasies.

 

Once far away from prying eyes and ears, she spoke up. “We might want to stop him from doing that. He’s beginning to make us look like idiots.”

 

“If you can tell me how he does it, Kyoka, I’ll put an end to it immediately.”

 

Kyoka Jiro sighed, following behind him dutifully.

 

* * *

 

Izuku walked briskly through an open park with the assist from his cane. He glanced around, smiling because of the light breeze and the birds, but it’s wrinkles don’t quite reach his eyes. Looking further down the path he walked on, he spotted a familiar face he wasn’t expecting to see. His face positively lit up with a glow as he limped towards the figure sitting on the bench.

 

“Yagi!” He called out, hopping his former sergeant would remember his face, and possibly even his name. Toshinori Yagi still looked as fit as ever, but there definitely was some muscle loss. Not much, but he didn’t look like a sunken skeleton with skin stretched over his bones it like Izuku imagined he would be after all this time. His bright yellow golden hair still stood on end behind him and two locks in front always rebelling, while his neon blue eyes still analyzing all the same. With no visible response, he called out again, “Sergeant Toshinori Yagi!” This time the man looked up, and fixed him with an examining gaze.

 

“Midoriya, Izuku Midoriya.” Izuku held out a hand as per standard greeting after a long-time-no-see gesture dictates. He was however, bouncing on the ball of his left foot (the one not impaired), being almost unable to contain his excitement. “You were my Sergeant in the military with me.” That’s when the lightbulb seemed to go off in the man’s mind.

 

“Ah, right, sorry, Midoriya, hello.” Yagi accepted the handshake, both party’s hands as tough and strong as the other holding it. A firm shake setted it, and they let go. “I heard they had moved you abroad somewhere getting shot at. What happened?”

 

Izuku’s smile wavered, pain flashing into his mind, before allowing himself a quick glance at his leg. He spoke, almost as if he was still living the pain. “I got shot.”

 

Izuku and Toshinori now sat next to one another on one of the part benches, enjoying each other’s company and siping freshly bought coffee. Izuku turned towards Toshinori and asked, “Are you teaching at U.A. yet? I know that’s where you’ve wanted to be a teacher at for a while now.”

 

Toshinori returned his gaze and responded, “I am, in fact. Yeah, the kids are young and bright.” He chuckled. “And they’re only going to get smarter. What about you, just staying in town until you get yourself sorted?”

 

Izuku snorted, a goofy smile adorning his face. “I can’t afford London on an Army pension.”

 

“Ah, but you couldn’t bear to be anywhere else,” Yagi countered with a smile of his own. “That’s not the Izuku Midoriya I know.”

 

Izuku’s gaze fell to his hands, smile slowly sliding off his freckled face. “I guess I’m not quite the same Izuku Midoriya you knew.” He switched the coffee to his other hand, firmly clenching the previously shaking one. He didn’t want to somehow spill his drink.

 

“What about Shinso? Couldn’t he help you out?” Toshinori questioned.

 

Izuku pursed his lips thoughtfully, and guiltily. “I don’t really want to bother him with my problems. He has enough of his own without me dropping more on him.”

 

Yagi sighed like he knew that was going to be the answer before he even asked the question. “Well if you don’t want to burden him, why not get an apartment and share it, or something?”

 

“Come on,” Izuku faced Yagi, tilting his head slightly. “Who’d want me of all people as a flatmate?” Toshinori’s chest began rumbling in the beginnings of laughter. Izuku raised an eyebrow. “What?”

 

Yagi suppressed the laughter enough to say, “You’re the second person to say that to me today.”

 

Izuku paused. Someone else had told him the same thing? “Who was the first?”

 

* * *

 

Katsuki Bakugo unzipped the body bag of a fresh corpse, head hovering over the body’s own. His blond spikey hair contrasted to the dark coat and dark blue scarf he was wearing. His deep red eyes scanned his new prize. He sniffed. “How fresh?”

 

“Just in,” a boy in a lab coat opposite the lab table responded with a sharp-toothed smile. His red hair was pointed upwards, and two pieces almost looked like horns. “67, natural causes. Used to work here. I liked the guy, he was pretty nice.”

 

“Don’t care, Kirishima.” Katsuki snapped at the other male. “Just give me the riding crop.”

 

Eijiro Kirishima stood outside the room, standing and watching through the glass as Katsuki mercilessly whipped a lifeless body over and over, flinching everytime the riding crop hit its mark.

 

Eijiro eventually gathered the courage to go back inside room alongside a madman with what was essentially a wip. Chuckling lightly, he asked, “I take it that you had a bad day?”

 

Completely ignoring the other’s statement, Katsuki said gravely, “I need to know what bruises from in the next 20 minutes. A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me the results.” His tone left no room for no debate as he scribbled in the small notebook he had produced.

 

“Listen man,” Kirishima started with a smile in his voice and on his face. “I was wondering, maybe later when you’re finished—”

 

“You gelled your hair. It wasn’t gelled before,” Katsuki cut him off matter-of-factly. He had done a double take because he hadn’t been sure the first time, but now he was.

 

“Uh,” caught red handed, he paused for a second before resuming his cheerful demeanor. “Of course I was, I just refreshed it. That’s all.”

 

Katsuki looked at him warily and nearly completely unbelieving, before his gaze switched back to his book. “Finish your thought.”

 

“Oh yeah!” Eijiro snapped his fingers. “I want to know if you’d like to have coffee.”

 

Katsuki snapped his book shut and slid it away. “Black, no sugar or milk. I’ll be upstairs when it’s done.” He turned and promptly left, leaving a shocked Kirishima behind.

 

“Not exactly how I expected that to go at all.”

 

* * *

 

Katsuki Bakugo stood hunched over a petri dish, carefully holding a syringe above it. Around him sat scattered science equipment in various states of use, but all of them were state of the art. He would settle for no less after all. He wasn’t doing much, merely a little experiment to settle a case, when the door to the lab was knocked upon, interrupting his silence. He briefly glanced up to see a not-so-but-actually-very-close colleague with blonde hair and neon blue eyes step into the threshold, followed by another man he didn’t recognize, but that would change soon enough.

 

Izuku glanced around as Toshinori led him into a scientific lab, a bit star struck at it all. “This looks so different from what I remember these things to be.” Things, being the highly functional scientific equipment and various liquids in containers that didn’t exactly look spill proof. Of course the first thing he noticed besides the equipment was the blonde haired man staring at him a little longer than necessary, but he looked away, so Izuku decided not to provoke him first.

 

“Midoriya my boy, you have no idea,” Yagi commented, walking around the center tabled to sit across from the other blonde.

 

“Yagi, I need to borrow your phone.” Katsuki demanded. “There’s no signal on mine.”

 

The older man raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with the land line?”

 

Katsuki huffed and glared at him, clearly displeased with the question. “I text. I don’t call.”

 

“Sorry,” Toshinori replied, sighing. “I left it in the car.” He didn’t quite sound sorry, but Izuku hadn’t seen Toshinori in a long time, so it wouldn’t be proper to assume.

 

Coming up with a solution, Izuku fumbled for the phone in his own coat pocket. “Oh, um, here, use mine.” He held out his own phone to the blonde in a coat.

 

Katsuki scowled. “Fine,” he said before standing up and heading towards the green curly haired man.

 

Yagi pointed at Izuku, “This is an old friend of mine, Izuku Midoriya.”

 

Katsuki gave a grunt of acknowledgement and swiped the phone from the other. Izuku almost flinched at the rough action, but if the years of being in the military had taught him anything, it was how to keep his jittery nerves at least somewhat under control. And it stomped out his mumbling habit. Not really…

 

As soon as Katsuki began typing, he asked, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

 

“W-what?” Izuku stuttered over his words in order to form a coherent sentence and maybe not make a complete fool out of himself during a first meeting unlike that past couple times. Oh dear, they were dreadful. Hopefully this time he could introduce himself properly. Without any — Izuku paused.

 

What.

 

He glanced at Toshinori who had a knowing small smile etched into his face. His sergeant knew what was going on, but he didn’t want to say anything because he wanted to see the outcome. Sly bastard.

 

Katsuki paused typing only long enough to side a sidelong scathing look to Izuku. “Pay better attention next time.” He snapped. “I _said_ , “Afghanistan or Iraq’?”

 

Izuku stared at the man, wide eyed. Did he just..? How did he..? “Afghanistan. S-sorry. How did you know that—?”

 

Kirishima opening the door to the lab interrupted him and he quickly lapsed into silence. Katsuki looked up from the phone again. “There you are, Kirishima. About damn time I got that coffee.” He handed Izuku’s phone back to him. When the redhead got closer, Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “What happened to the gel?”

 

Eijiro’s hair was completely gel-free and was straight, reaching just above his shoulders now. He waved his hand dismissively once handing off the coffee. “I didn’t think it was quite working for me.”

 

“Is that so?” Katsuki asked it more like a statement than a question. “I really couldn’t care less, but the gel made your hair look like it was doing its job. Not it’s just hanging there like a useless asshole.” He turned around and sipped his coffee, walking towards the back of the room.

 

Once again stunned, Kirishima shook out of it and said with a smile, “I guess I don’t want to be completely useless then, do I?” Knowing his duty was done, he left the room.

 

Katsuki picked up various samples and examined them against a bright light. “What do you think about the violin?”

 

Izuku shifted his weight, still not quite being able to wrap his head around the situation completely. “What?”

 

“You really like to say “what” a lot don’t you? Don't answer that,” he snapped immediately after. “It was a rhetorical question and I have a feeling your answer it would give me migraine.” He set down a sample. “I play the violin when I’m thinking and sometimes don’t talk for days on end.” He turned to face Izuku, and when he gave Katsuki an odd look, sighed irritably. “Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other.” Izuku blinked rapidly.

 

_What._

 

“You told him about me?” Izuku asked Toshinori who was innocently examining a closed test tube with an orange liquid inside.

 

“Not a word,” Yagi replied, shaking his head.

 

“Then who said anything about flatmates?” Izuku’s tone, still confused, was turning to almost demanding.

 

“I did, dumbass.” Katsuki grabbed his coat as he spoke, slipping it on and wrapping his scarf around his neck. “I told Yagi this morning that I was a person who would have trouble finding a flatmate. Now here he is, right after lunch with an old friend who clearly just got home from military service in Afghanistan.” He snorted. “Wasn’t difficult to figure out.”

 

Izuku grew more frustrated. “How _did_ you know about Afghanistan?”

 

“I’ve got my eye on a little place in Central London. The both of us together will be able to afford it,” Katsuki continued, ignoring Izuku’s question in favor of grabbing his phone from the countertop and stuffing it in his pocket. “We’ll meet there tomorrow evening, 7 o’clock.” He brushed past the soldier. “I’ve got to go now. I left my riding crop in the mortuary.” Izuku’s mouth hung open as he passed.

 

Izuku’s face grew hot with the start of anger. “Is that it?” He said once the blonde had reached the door, both men turning to face each other.

 

“Is that what?” Katsuki growled, hand pausing on the handle.

 

“We’ve only met just now and we’re going to go look at an apartment?” Izuku countered as if the point was obvious, which it should have been.

 

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “Is there a problem with that?”

 

Izuku chuckled in disbelief, wide eyes emphasizing his astonishment. “We don’t know anything about each other. I don’t know where we’re meeting. I don’t even know your name.”

 

Katsuki leveled him with a confident stare. “I know you’re an Army doctor. And you’ve just been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you’ve got a sister who’s worried about you but you won’t go to her for help because you don’t want to burden her with your own problems, possibly because she’s got insomnia, and more likely because she recently created a rift with her closest male friend. And I know that your therapist thinks your limp’s psychosomatic, which is definitely the correct diagnosis.” Katsuki virtually hissed his next sentence. “That’s enough to go on with, don’t you think?” He opened the door disappearing around it’s edge.

 

Katsuki appeared only briefly around the door to say, “The name’s Katsuki Bakugo and the address is 221B Baker Street. See you, loser,” before closing the door behind him. Toshinori waved to him a farewell, like all this was usual.

 

Midoriya glanced at Yagi incredulously, and the man nodded his head. “Yeah, he’s always like that.” Izuku glanced back at the door where Bakugo had vanished.

 

“Oh boy.”


	2. Chapter 2 | A Study in Pink | Part 2

Chapter 2

A Study in Pink

Part 2

 

Izuku sat down on the edge of his perfectly made bed, eyebrows knit in concentration. That Katsuki had really left a deep impression on him, and he couldn’t tell if it was positive or negative yet. The keen awareness of this man, yet he wasn’t sure how he’d figured his past out yet, was astounding and beyond anything he’d ever seen before. Katsuki was so sure of himself, unlike Izuku who had a bad habit of mumbling (which was probably what he was doing now), stuttering, and generally making a complete fool of himself. He blinked, only now realizing that in his fuming and amazement, he’d forgotten to even gather contact information. To make him overlook such a simple thing as an exchange in information, Izuku couldn't help but wonder just who exactly this enigma was.

 

In remembering that Katsuki had sent a text message from Izuku’s phone, the soldier pulled his phone out from his back pocket with a little shifting and navigated to the recently sent messages.

 

**Messages - Sent**

_If brother has a green ladder, arrest brother._

_KB_

 

Izuku rose an eyebrow. Now what could he have sent that for? This sent a new set of questions spiraling and tumbling through his brain. The most prominent thought however, was not a question, but a nerve-racking truth. He knew nothing about Katsuki Bakugo, when the man knew just about everything about him. His eyes drifted to the laptop sitting on his desk, and vaguely wondered what would come up if he searched the man’s name. So without further adieu, he pushed himself up with the help of his cane, and made his way over to the desk.

 

* * *

 

Izuku walked down the sidewalk of Baker Street with the assistance of his cane, and scanned the buildings on his left for the important number and letter combination: 221B. Upon finding the black painted door with these gold numbers on it, he moved up the steps with some difficulty, and used the knocker on the door to, obviously, knock. Behind him, he heard the light bang of a car door being shut and turned to see Katsuki stepping out of a cab.

 

“Good, you’re here.” His voice was gravely to such an extent that it sounded like he spent his free time yelling and screaming, a pitch that Izuku hadn’t noticed yesterday. After paying the cabbie, Katsuki headed towards the door.

 

Izuku stepped off of the steps to meet him. “Ah, Bakugo.”

 

“Call me Katsuki,” he said so quickly afterwards that he almost had cut Izuku off. “Hearing ‘Bakugo’ coming from everyone would just be too fucking annoying.” He brushed past Izuku, only to have to stand next to him a second later when the door wasn’t open yet. He crossed his arms with an annoyed huff.

 

Gazing around, Izuku noted aloud, “This is a great spot. It has to be expensive.”

 

Katsuki scowled at the question, and Izuku was beginning to wonder if that was just his default setting. “Not a chance. I wouldn't have even considered this place if it was. Recovery Girl gives me a discount ‘cause she owes me a favor.” Seeming glaring at the door, as if willing it to open, he continued. “A couple years back her husband somehow got himself sentenced to death in Florida, and I lended a hand.”

 

Izuku’s eyes widened in a newfound sub-layer of respect. “Wow. So, you managed to stop her husband from being executed?”

 

Katsuki scoffed, sending a well placed smirk and sly look in Izuku’s direction, making the other almost nervous about what he was going to say. “Of course not. I ensured it.”

 

As timing is everything, the door took that opportunity to open before Izuku could ask a flurry of questions that were suddenly running laps inside his mind. A little old lady only about four feet tall had opened the door and grinned widely when she spotted Katsuki.

 

“Bakugo,” she said warmly and opened her arms to the blond.

 

“Recovery Girl,” he grunted a hardly audible acknowledgment as he stepped closer to her, but stubbornly refused to take his hands out of his pockets. Her white coat was crumpled against his pants as she stepped up to him and hugged him, even if he didn’t hug back. The only tell-tale sign that showed he didn’t mind being hugged was that he glanced down, and his hardened expression softened to the point where Izuku could just barely see it.

 

She released him and he stepped through the threshold past the woman, calling back, “Recovery Girl, Izuku Midoriya. Izuku Midoriya, Recovery Girl.”

 

‘Recovery Girl’, as Katsuki called her, frowed in disapproval and turned towards him, absently smoothing the top of her grey haired bun. “Nonsense.” She smiled as she faced Izuku. “My name is Chiyo Shuzenji. You can call me Mrs. Shuzenji if you’d like.” She held out a hand for the soldier to shake. Once noticing the hand, he hastily fumbled and shook it. “He just calls me Recovery Girl because I once patched up his wounds when he got into a fight.” Before Izuku could question her further on the matter, she waved her hand in dismissal and ushered him in. “Come in, come in. Bakugo is already inside. Wouldn’t want you two to get separated now would we?”

 

Izuku blinked in confusion, but stepped inside the threshold anyways. “What’s that supposed to—”

 

“Get your ass up here, Midoriya!” Katsuki shouted from the top of the stairs, sounding just as irritable as ever. Izuku deadpanned. Today’s running joke must be that he’ll never speak or finish an important thought.

 

Struggling with his leg, but with the help of his cane, he limped his way up the stairs and around the bend to see Katsuki at the top, tapping his foot impatiently as he held the door open. His ruby eyes flickered with restless energy, and nearly rooted Izuku on the spot with their intensity, but he looked away to instead focus on moving up the stairs and not tripping over his cane.

 

Once finally at the top, Katsuki propped the door open and walked inside, leaving Izuku to follow behind him. He stepped in after Katuski and glanced around at the cluttered space. Off to the left there was a doorway that led to the kitchen and dining table, which was covered in scientific chemicals, beakers, and other equipment, and in front seemed to be the living space. A grunge couch sat against the right wall next to him with a coffee table in front, and there were two seemingly comfy chairs next to a fireplace on the far wall. In between the two was a table with a chair on either side. Boxes were stacked so high on top that the windows behind were almost unnoticeable.

 

“This could work well,” Izuku mused. He headed towards the clustered kitchen table. “Very well in fact. If we tried anyways.”

 

Katsuki let out a huff of satisfaction and met him at the kitchen doorway. “Of-fucking-course it will. Just watch. This will be the best apartment you’ve ever lived in.”

 

“So I already moved my stuff in.”

“Soon as we get all this junk cleared out.”

 

They had spoken at the same time, each understanding the other’s point even if they didn’t quite hear the entire sentence.

 

Katsuki, who’d looked off towards the fireplace mantle to admire the objects sitting atop it, whirled towards the doctor with a furious expression on his face. “This is not junk!” He gestured widely to the objects strewn around both visible rooms. “All this is material for my experiments and research! It goes nowhere!” Despite his words however, he began picking up scattered papers and gathering them into stacks. At one point, he slammed papers down onto the table with such force that the shaking caused one stack to sway just a little too much and topple to the ground unceremoniously at Katsuki’s feet. He hadn’t been very happy about that, and Izuku would have gladly shown people the newly splintered wooden chair if they believed otherwise.

 

If it weren’t for the fact that Izuku wanted to remain a functioning human being and not join the chair in disfiguration, he would have begun laughing on the spot at Katsuki’s karma, but he didn’t so he stayed quite, only just managing to reign back a grin.

 

Katsuki pulled out a knife from who-know-where and stabbed it into the top of the mantle right next to the… Skull. Human skull. Izuku really hoped that he wasn’t about to move in with a murderer. He lifted his cane and used it to warily point at the skull. “Is that human skull?” Hey, couldn’t blame a guys for needing clarification in this particular situation.

 

Katsuki made a sound of acknowledgement. “Not a friend of mine.”

 

Izuku’s thoughts stalled. If it wasn’t a friend of his, then why did he even have it in the first place? Decoration? Murder victim of his?

 

As is sensing the uneasiness rising in the room, Mrs. Shuzenji ―who had been so silent that Izuku had forgotten she was there― spoke up, asking, “What do you think, then, Mr. Midoriya?”

 

“Doctor, not Mister,” Izuku corrected on habit alone, eyes fixed upon Katsuki nonchalantly unwrapping his scarf and slinging off his coat to reveal a well-worn suit that hadn’t been very visible with the coat on.

 

“Certainly, Dr. Midoriya. There’s also another bedroom upstairs, if you’ll be needing another.”

 

That snapped him out of his embarrassing staring. “Of course we’ll be needing two bedrooms.” It was only then, that Izuku realized what Mrs. Shuzenji had been assuming all along. His face quickly changed into one of pure and utter mortification. “Wait, you don’t mean―you thought that―” Panicked, Izuku glanced at Katuski, but the other seemed to have gone hard of hearing. “Him and I? No.” Izuku’s hands waved about in a hasty dismissive gesture. “No, no. Absolutely not.” A guy like Katsuki with that kind of attitude and abrasiveness? No. Besides, Izuku was pretty sure he didn’t bat for the other team.

 

“Oh don’t worry, there’s all sort around here,” Mrs. Shuzenji said with amusement in her voice, her tone coming across like she was enjoying Izuku’s reaction (which she was).  “Mrs. Tomoko Shiretoko next door has married ones.”

 

Izuku stood there, completely baffled, as Mrs. Shuzenji walked past him and into the kitchen-turned-experiment-lab, making a tisking sound when she saw the mess. “Bakugo, you’ve made quite the mess here. I expect it to be cleaned up to a manageable level at some point,” she said as she wandered further into the kitchen.

 

Seeing that as the conversation was officially over, Izuku took this time to sit down and ease his aching legs. He pat down a pillow in the nearest chair, and sat with a heavy exhale. Katsuki set a small black laptop onto the only clear spot on the table and opened it with a click. Which reminded Izuku, “I looked you up on the Internet last night.” He studied Katsuki carefully, gauging his reaction.

 

Katuski turned to him, as if he wasn’t expecting the statement, before he rose an almost smug eyebrow. “Anything interesting?” He asked like he already knew the answer.

 

Izuku still studied him, even through the growing irritation. “Found your website. _The Science of Deduction._ ”

 

Katsuki’s smugness grew. “Brilliant, aren’t I?”

 

Izuku couldn’t hold back the scoff, and watched with mild satisfaction as Katsuki’s smug expression diminished, frustration seeping in and filling its place. “You said you could identify a software designer by their tie,” Izuku said in a disbelieving tone. “And and airline pilot by their left thumb?”

 

“Yeah,” Katsuki replied irritably. “And I can read your military career in your face and leg, and your sister’s insomnia by your cell phone,” he stated to help him prove his point.

 

Izuku narrowed his eyes. That’s right, he did know about all that, but Izuku knew nothing about him, so that made Katsuki dangerous. “How?” The smug, knowing expression grew back like weed as he turned to face the window, not saying a word.

 

Izuku was about to press him further, but one again (this had to be a running joke, right?), Mrs. Shuzenji walked back into the room holding today’s newspaper with a frown on her face. “What do you think about these suicides then, Bakugo? I would think that’d be right up your street.” She sighed. “Three exactly the same.”

 

Katsuki suddenly became incredibly interested in something outside the window, and Izuku could faintly hear a car engine. The detective’s mouth twitched, slowly curling into a deadly smile. Izuku felt a shiver run up his spine. “Four.” He stood closer to the window. “There’s a fourth, and something is different this time.”

 

“A fourth?” Mrs. Shuzenji questioned, looking up from the paper.

 

Footsteps sounded from the stairs, and Izuku recognised the head of police, Iida Tenya, walk through the doorway. Nothing was said, but apparently nothing needed to be. Izuku looked back and forth between the two men, completely lost on the matter they were silently communicating about.

 

“Where?” Katsuki asked immediately, with a surprisingly blank expression compared to the one before it.

 

“Brixton, Lauriston Gardens,” Iida replied with just as much speed. Izuku's eyes widened, then zipped to Katsuki. Just what kind of a detective was he exactly, that the police would come to him for help?

 

Katsuki leveled his gaze at the inspector. “What’s new about this one? You wouldn’t be wasting my time if it wasn’t something different.”

 

Iida straightened. “You’ve been informed how the victims never leave notes?”

 

“Yeah. By your expression, this one did?”

 

“Precisely. Will you come?”

 

The was a beat of silence.

 

“Who’s on Forensics?” Katsuki asked pointedly.

 

Inspector Iida pushed up his glasses, something Izuku recognized as a nervous habit. “It’s Kaminari Denki.”

 

Katsuki scowled deeply and turned away. “Fuck Denki. He’s annoying as all hell.”

 

“Well, he won’t be your assistant.”

 

“I want an assistant,” Katsuki almost cut him off, sending the inspector a scathing glare that made even Izuku ―who was not the intended target― to want to shrink in on himself.

 

Iida cleared his throat, not visibly affected, and asked more sternly, “Will you come?”

 

“Not in a police car.” Katsuki shuffled back towards the window. Was that sass Izuku was detecting from Katsuki? “I’ll be right behind.”

 

Inspector Iida bent at a ninety degree angle, most likely a bow from what Izuku could tell, and said loudly, “Thank you,” before straightening up and making his way back down the steps.

 

Izuku spent the next precious moments in a state of disbelief. His eyes darted to Katsuki for the millionth time, and once more, he couldn’t help but wonder just who _exactly_ the furious blonde was. He glanced to Mrs. Shuzenji, asking the silent question on whether this was normal or not, but she didn’t notice, so his gaze naturally darted to the subject of attention. Izuku’s blood turned cold when he saw that the killer grin was back on Katsuki’s face. Not a good sign, Izuku noted. Katsuki’s hand curled into a fist and he punched forwards, predictably hitting only thin air, and shouted, “Die!”

 

Izuku blanched. “Die..?” He echoed uncertaily. He was suddenly very unsure of Katsuki.

 

Not hearing Izuku, Katsuki spun in a circle, yelling, “Hell yes! Four serial suicides, and now a note!” He swiped up his coat that he’d draped across the back of the second chair, and slung it on. “It must be Christmas! Mrs. Shuzenji, I’ll be late. Might need food when I get back.”

 

Mrs. Shuzenji crossed her arms and huffed. “Good gracious. I’m your landlady, not your housekeeper.”

 

“Something cold is fine,” he said, ignoring her as he waltzed into the kitchen and grabbed things that Izuku couldn’t see from the table. “Izuku, have some coffee or whatever. Make yourself at home without throwing away my shit.” He opened the side door, pausing just long enough to shout, “Don’t wait!” before very nearly slamming the door on his way out.

 

Mrs. Shuzenji let out a long exhale. “Just look at that, running around without a care in the world.” She turned to Izuku. “My husband was just like that. I can tell you’re much more of the sitting-down and thinking type, though. Here, I’ll make you a pot of coffee. You rest your leg,” she said as she turned and moved towards the kitchen.

 

Why did this disability have to make him so useless? Was he suddenly so incapable of taking care of himself that he had to have someone else make him a simple pot of coffee? Thoughts like these, combined with the pent up irritation of Katsuki, make Izuku bark out, “Damn my leg!” Seeing Mrs. Shuzenji whirl around with a look on her face that told him that she was about to scold him, made him attempt to retract his statement. “Sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to say that out loud! It was entirely unintentional and won’t happen again. Well I can’t guarantee that, but I will definitely watch my language closer. Then again I’m not accutally watching it, more like being aware of it, but at this point it’s kind of the same thing. Not entirely though, there are differences like between the physical and the metaphysical aspects―”

 

“You’re mumbling, dear,” Mrs. Shuzenji commented.

 

Izuku felt his cheeks darken. He couldn’t believe that he’d been speaking aloud again. He’d tried to conquer his mumbling, but it evidently didn’t work. “Sorry.”

 

“No worries. Anyways, I understand. I’ve got a bad hip.” Mrs. Shuzenji patted her hip for emphasis.

 

Izuku sighed. This was not going as he hoped it would. “A cup of coffee would be great right now, thanks,” he said as he picked up a newspaper.

 

“I’m only doing this once, I’m not your housekeeper,” she commented as she headed towards the stairs.

 

Izuku still felt a little embarrassed so he tried to be as polite as possible. “Of course, Mrs. Shuzenji. And, do you have any biscuits?”

 

“Sure, but remember that I’m not your housekeeper.”

 

Izuku nodded solemnly. Satisfied with the answer, Mrs. Shuzenji headed down the stairs to go prepare the refreshments. Gazing down at the paper, Izuku noticed that there was a picture of a blonde lady. She was the latest death in the string of suicides, not counting the fourth one that had just been discovered. Looking to the left, to no surprise, he found that Inspector Iida was head of the investigation. Izuku blinked. Wait. The head of the investigation had just come to Katsuki for help. Not just anyone, but the top dog wanted help from Izuku’s new roomate. He looked to where Katsuki had left from, and nearly jumped out of his chair in surprise when the aforementioned was leaning casually against the doorframe, slowly putting on gloves, and scrutinizing Izuku with his ruby red eyes.

 

“You’re a doctor.” Katsuki lifted himself from the doorframe and stalked towards Izuku like he was his prey. “Not just any doctor, you’re an army doctor.”

 

Izuku knew a challenge when he saw one, so with a grunt and the help of his cane, he pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, I am.”

 

Katsuki stepped closer. “Any good?”

 

Izuku straightened his back. He wasn’t big on boasting, but this would have to be an exception. “Very good.”

 

“Must’a seen some grueling injuries. Violent deaths.” Closer.

 

Izuku cleared his throat. “Yes. It comes with the job.”

 

“A fuck-ton of trouble too, I bet.”

 

“Always. Enough for my lifetime, far too much.”

 

They were now barely a foot away, staring each other down, both like predators, unlike before when Izuku felt like prey. A wicked grin split across Katsuki’s face and Izuku felt the urge to step back. “Wanna see some more?”

 

Izuku was tempted to decline, but in doing so, Katsuki would win the challenge. It may have been petty of him, but Izuku didn’t think he’d be able to stand it if someone as pompous Katsuki won. “Oh God, yes.” And they were off.

 

Katsuki barrelled down the stairs with Izuku right behind him as fast as his injury would allow him. “Sorry, Mrs. Shuzenji, I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check on the coffee and biscuits.”

 

Mrs. Shuzenji poked her head out of a side room. “The both of you?”

 

Katsuki whirled on his heal. “Impossible suicides? Four of them?” He gripped her shoulders, visibly shaking with bottled up fear. At least Izuku hopped it was fear. He wasn’t sure how he would react if it was excitement. “What’s the point of sitting on my ass when there’s finally something fun going on!” Oh boy, that was excitement and not fear. Izuku wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

 

“Look at you, so happy about these terrible things. It’s not decent.” Mrs. Shuzenji almost sounded disappointed, but the upward twist to her lips and the crinkling at the corner of her eyes, told Izuku all he needed to know. Perhaps Katsuki wasn’t such a bad guy as Izuku originally made him out to be.

 

“Who cares about being fucking decent?” Katsuki released Mrs. Shuzenji, heading for the door, yanking it open when he reached it. “The game, Mrs. Shuzenji, is afoot!”

 

Izuku quirked an eyebrow. “How often do you use that word?”

 

“Never.”


End file.
